I saw this article posted on a friends blog and LOVED it. It makes me really frustrated how the world thinks that being a stay a home mom isn't hard and that the only way to be accomplished is to work. I can't explain it better than this mother so I won't even try but let's just say we mother's don't just sit at home and eat bon bon's all day. I WISH.
Carolyn:
Best
friend has child. Her: exhausted, busy, no time for self, no time for
me, etc. Me (no kids): Wow. Sorry. What'd you do today? Her: Park, play
group . . .
Okay. I've done
Internet searches, I've talked to parents. I don't get it. What do
stay-at-home moms do all day? Please no lists of library, grocery store,
dry cleaners . . . I do all those things, too, and I don't do them
EVERY DAY. I guess what I'm asking is: What is a typical day and why
don't moms have time for a call or e-mail? I work and am away from home
nine hours a day (plus a few late work events) and I manage to get it
all done. I'm feeling like the kid is an excuse to relax and enjoy --
not a bad thing at all -- but if so, why won't my friend tell me the
truth? Is this a peeing contest ("My life is so much harder than
yours")? What's the deal? I've got friends with and without kids and all
us child-free folks get the same story and have the same questions.
Tacoma, Wash.
Relax and enjoy. You're funny.
Or you're lying about having friends with kids.
Or you're taking them at their word that they actually have kids,
because you haven't personally been in the same room with them.
Internet searches?
I keep wavering between giving you a straight answer and giving my forehead some keyboard.
To
claim you want to understand, while in the same breath implying that
the only logical conclusions are that your mom-friends are either lying
or competing with you, is disingenuous indeed.
So,
since it's validation you seem to want, the real answer is what you
get. In list form. When you have young kids, your typical day is:
constant attention, from getting them out of bed, fed, clean, dressed;
to keeping them out of harm's way; to answering their coos, cries,
questions; to having two arms and carrying one kid, one set of car keys,
and supplies for even the quickest trips, including the
latest-to-be-declared-essential piece of molded plastic gear; to keeping
them from unshelving books at the library; to enforcing rest times; to
staying one step ahead of them lest they get too hungry, tired or bored,
any one of which produces the kind of checkout-line screaming that gets
the checkout line shaking its head.
It's needing 45 minutes to do what takes others 15.
It's constant vigilance, constant touch, constant use of your voice,
constant relegation of your needs to the second tier.
It's constant scrutiny and second-guessing from family and friends, well-meaning and otherwise.
It's resisting constant temptation to seek short-term relief at everyone's long-term expense.
It's
doing all this while concurrently teaching virtually everything --
language, manners, safety, resourcefulness, discipline, curiosity,
creativity. Empathy. Everything.
It's
also a choice, yes. And a joy. But if you spent all day, every day,
with this brand of joy, and then, when you got your first 10 minutes to
yourself, wanted to be alone with your thoughts instead of calling a
good friend, a good friend wouldn't judge you, complain about you to
mutual friends,
or marvel how much more productively she uses her time.
Either make a sincere effort to understand or keep your snit to yourself.